


having faith

by kxrthxmmel



Category: Glee
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Fix-it, Episode: s02e03 Grilled Cheesus, Gen, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Religious Discussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26268670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kxrthxmmel/pseuds/kxrthxmmel
Summary: kurt has the worst week of his life after his dad has a heart attack
Relationships: Burt Hummel & Kurt Hummel
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	having faith

**Author's Note:**

> basically me re-writing the grilled cheesus ep bc i think everyone was way too harsh on kurt so here's my version of events

Kurt feels like he’s going to be sick. 

His stomach is swooping and swirling, turning over in knots as he sits still on his chair, the hard plastic digs into his back, but he doesn’t care. He can’t find it within himself to care when he’s watching his dad in the hospital bed beside him, so still and pale he already looks dead.

His stomach gives another funny turn, and Kurt wonders if maybe there’s a sick bucket in here he could use just in case he needs it. He hasn’t eaten anything since lunch at school, and that already feels like years ago - the french lesson he’d been in, happily sprouting off the language he was so well practiced with, before he’d seen the sullen looking faces of Mr Shue and Ms Pillsbury standing in the doorway.    
  
His stomach had been in one giant, uncomfortable knot since then, and the longer he sits here and watches over his dad, a tube up his nose, a machine that beeps steadily by his head, cold hand in his, a weak pulse underneath his finger - the tighter the knot becomes, feeling like rope in his throat where it gets harder and harder to breathe.   
  
But he swallows it down and sucks in a shaky breath, giving his dad’s hand another hard squeeze. He wants to say something - tell him maybe to squeeze back. Maybe get angry for not waking up yet. Perhaps crack a snide joke about how he probably went ahead and had two slim jims for breakfast against Kurt’s wishes like they’d argued about just this morning.   
  
But nothing comes out of his mouth - his dad who he’s fallen into such ease with, conversation coming so easy now, he can’t find any words he wants to say. All he can do is choke back sobs and whimper quietly enough for them to be drowned out by the other sounds of the hospital bustling around them.   
  
Kurt knows that eventually he’ll be told to leave. He’s sure that visiting hours don’t last forever, but the thought of having to let go of his dad’s hand and walk out of this room terrifies him. He hasn’t even thought about what will actually happen. The knot in his stomach jabs him sharply at the image of Mr Shue on the phone to social services, probably trying to figure out what happens to a kid who has a dead mother and a half-dead dad.   
  
Bile burns at his throat and he wants to kick himself for even thinking those thoughts. He takes a breath and the nausea subsides. Tears slip from his eyes, already feeling raw and puffy from how many tears he’s shed from such a short amount of time.    
  
His dad looks so…  _ ill.  _ And it frightens him. His dad is big and strong. His dad can lift car tires one handed without breaking a sweat. His dad used to yank him up on his shoulders when he was smaller, carrying him around like it was no big deal. His dad had a crackling laugh, like a firework. His dad would sneeze and the whole house would shake, startling poor Kurt out of his skin almost.   
  
His dad was such a…  _ dad _ . He was a real, good dad. He talked to him when they needed to talk, even if it was over something awkward and humiliating. He listened to him when he needed him to listen. He smiled and cracked jokes when Kurt would cry and he’d get angry if he was hurt.   
  
And Kurt needs that now. He wants his dad to wipe away his tears, ruffle his hair and mess it up and give him a hard pat on the shoulder like he knows he would.    
  
But he doesn’t. Instead he’s still and unmoving, the only signs of life is the weak fluttering of his pulse under Kurt’s fingertips, and the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest.   
  
Kurt hears slow, clicking footsteps and he braces himself to be pried away from his dad.   
  
The curtain is pulled back, and Mr Shue and Ms Pillsbury are there, giving him pitiful looks.   
  
“Kurt?” Ms Pillsbury speaks, her voice is so gentle and kind and he’s once again reminded of Bambi when he looks up at her. “Kurt, visiting hours are over in five.”   
  
Kurt swallows thickly and looks back at his dad, holding his hand a little tighter, like he was afraid it’d be the last chance he’d ever get.   
  
“We’ll give you a chance to say goodbye,” Mr Shue speaks, his voice is hoarse and it makes Kurt look up with surprise. He’s not sure why he’s upset out of all people. “I’ve spoken to the school and a few social workers,” he tells him, just like Kurt had expected. “We can figure that out later though, yeah bud?”   
  
Kurt’s stomach clenches. Bud. That’s what his dad called him.  _ Calls _ him. He’ll say it again when he wakes up, he tells himself, easing the knot just a tiny bit.   
  
He looks away from them both, afraid that if he does he might just start crying again. He sniffs and nods, eyes flicker to them for a split second to give them a flat smile.   
  
Ms Pillsbury tries to smile back but it doesn’t seem very real. They pull the curtain back and Kurt listens to them walk only a few steps away where they stop and wait for him.  


Kurt feels embarrassed that they’re only on the other side, probably doing their best to not listen in on Kurt crying.   
  
He cries, tiny little hiccups that would normally be muffled by his dad’s chest as he pulled him in for a big hug, not letting go until his crying ceased.   
  
But nobody is there to hold him and muffle his pain. He stands up on shaky legs, feeling like they might buckle underneath him at any given moment as he leans in close to his dad.   
  
He doesn’t smell like his dad. He doesn’t smell like motor oil and cheap cologne. He smells like hospitals and something sterile, and it makes Kurt feel even more sick.   
  
He presses a kiss to his dad’s head, hoping for a split second it’ll be enough for him to open his eyes and smile up at him. But as he pulls away, his dad remains the same; unmoving.

He sniffs and more tears slip down his cheeks as he holds his hand, wrapping it up in both of his, never ever wanting to let go.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he croaks, voice barely a whisper. “I promise. Promise me you’ll be here too, okay?”   
  
But Burt doesn’t move and Kurt feels his chest aches as he lets his hand go, flopping lifelessly back onto the bed. He walks out of the room, his heart feeling too heavy in his chest to look back a final time as he disappears behind the other side of the curtain where both teachers are waiting for him.   
  
*   
  
The journey in Mr Shue’s car is quiet and awkward. The radio is on, but barely loud enough to make out what’s playing, instead a small tinny sound plays from the speakers that actually is more grating than soothing.   
  
He’s in the back seat and he’s watching the mirror where Mr Shue keeps glancing back at him, their eyes meeting briefly every few minutes before he looks away again.   
  
Kurt isn’t sure what time it is, but it’s dark outside so it must be late because his eyes are tired and all he wants to do is go home and crawl into his bed and cry himself to sleep.   
  
There’s a red light and they stop. Nobody has said a word.   
  
Kurt clears his throat, the rope inside him is still tight and uncomfortable but he manages to speak around it.   
  
“Where are we going?”   
  
He hates how small and childish he sounds. He hates this. He doesn’t want to be driven around by his Spanish teacher, accompanied by his Guidance Counselor.   
  
He feels like a stupid, little child. 

Mr Shue looks at him again through the mirror. “Well,” he starts, “I spoke with Principal Figgens who has your record on file.”

Kurt’s throat feels like it’s getting tighter and tighter.   
  
“And besides your dad it doesn’t look like you have any other adult guardians in your family,” he tells him and Kurt wishes he had the energy to bite back.   
  
He knows that. Of course he knows that. He’s not stupid; it’s been him and his dad for the longest time.   
  
No grandparents. No aunts or uncles. No weird distant cousins. No mom.   
  
He feels his eyes prickling with tears. No mom. He already lost her, and if he lost his dad, it’d make him an -

“However we did manage to get a hold of Ms Hudson, Finn’s mom,” Mr Shue’s voice cuts through his thoughts sharply, jolting him out of the dark void he’d started to spiral into.   
  
He blinks rapidly, trying desperately not to let himself cry again as Mr Shue continues.   
  
“And she was more than welcome to let you stay,” he tells him softly. He looks at him sadly.   
  
“If that’s okay with you, Kurt?”

Kurt swallows thickly and nods. The traffic light finally changes from red to orange to green.

“That’d be nice,” he croaks, forcing the words out to sound as normal as possible.   
  
Nothing feels normal though, he thinks to himself as the car sets off again, heading to a home that isn’t his. 

Ms Pillsbury turns to look at him briefly, a thin smile that seems like she wants to say something, but instead she just reaches back, pats Kurt on the knee and turns back around. 

Kurt doesn’t let himself cry until he’s at Carole and Finn’s house, alone on the sofa bed when everyone else is asleep.   
  
*   
  
He manages to get up and out of the house before anyone else is awake. He’s scribbled down a note to Carole to stop her from worrying, telling her he’s walked home to get ready for school where he’ll have to walk, because his car is still in the parking lot where it’d been left yesterday.   
  
He manages to get home, get himself ready and get to school, walking through the doors with sweat prickling at his back just as the bell rings. 

His stomach aches from the knot but also because he still hasn’t eaten since yesterday.

His phone is also dead when he checks it, so when he’s sat in his AP History class he has nothing to distract himself from the droning voice of his teacher, prattling on about something he has no current interest in.   
  
He’s thinking about his dad. He hasn’t stopped thinking about his dad. His eyes flicker up towards the clock that hangs on the wall, desperately wishing that each second would go faster so he could pack up and go back to the hospital.   
  
By lunch he feels dead on his feet. He’s not sure how he’s managed it, but he’s pretty much avoided his glee friends. That or maybe they’re avoiding him. Either way, he’s thankful for it.   
  
He sits alone in the cafeteria picking at his abysmally sad lunch when he’s being knocked sideways by a backpack being swung at his head. He manages to stop himself from topping onto the floor when he looks around to see Karofsky and Azimio both giving him a snide look, clearly pleased with themselves as they walk away.   
  
He stares down at his lettuce and wills himself not to cry. He barely eats anything after that.   
  
He has Study Period which he uses to go to the library to charge his phone and when it finally springs to life, he feels his heart sink in his chest to see he has no calls from the hospital - no good news is waiting for him on his screen and he feels like throwing his phone at the wall.   
  
There is however a text from Carole:

**Make sure you come back home after glee practice tonight. I can take you to the hospital if need be :) Have a good day. Love you.**

Tears burn behind his eyes and he has to put his hand over his mouth to muffle any pained noises that might escape him. 

His entire body aches and he wishes that maybe the text that’s burning through his screen would just leap up and give him the biggest hug. He already had planned to go straight to the hospital after school, but there’s something about Carole’s text that makes him want to maybe go to her house instead. He’s trying not to think about a mother's embrace, or what her hugs smell like because it makes him feel worse.   
  
He wipes at his eyes quickly, not wanting anyone to see him like this, opening up his Biology book to at least pretend to be studying.   
  
*   
  
He’s the first one in the choir room which Kurt can’t decide is a good or bad thing. He’s managed to not bump into anyone today, not even having classes with anyone either.   
  
He’s here before Brad, even, and Kurt wonders if maybe it’s a sign. Maybe he’ll truly be alone soon. His head is somewhere else when suddenly, the room starts to fill.   
  
It’s not the usual, excited buzz that follows when everyone meets for glee practice.   
  
It’s quiet and sad. It painfully reminds Kurt of a funeral.   
  
Tina is the first to embrace him. He’s not one for hugs from people he doesn’t really know, but it’s nice. Quinn touches at his arm, rubbing her thumb over his sleeve. He smiles thinly at her and gives her a whispered thank you. Everyone takes their seats and Mike moves past him to sit with Tina, his hand lingers on his shoulder for a moment before giving it a squeeze and dropping away.    
  
Santana and Brittany are in front of him now too. They look sad, heads down until Santana looks up at him with a deep expression etched across her face.   
  
“Hey Kurt,” she speaks, voice lacking the usual snark and sarcasm he was so used to hearing whenever she spoke. “We’re really sorry about your dad’s heart attack.”

Kurt sniffs and nods his head. “Thanks Santana,” he tries to smile, but everything feels too heavy to even try. 

He watches as Brittany pulls something from her binder - something colourful and bright. “I did a book report on heart attacks if you wanna give it to the doctor,” she tells him in a quiet voice, handing over the file, he takes it without even thinking when she adds, “I got knocked down an entire letter grade ‘cus it was written in crayon.”

The front of the papers is covered in stickers and drawings and true to her word, it does appear to be entirely written in every rainbow colour of crayon.

He isn’t really sure what to say, thankfully Santana seems to know what to do, putting her hand on the other girl's arm as she leads them to their seats. Kurt’s still looking down at the sweet little doodles on the page when he hears Finn’s voice coming storming into the room.

“What the hell happened?” He asks, and when Kurt looks up, he’s suddenly in front of him.

“My dad’s in the hospital,” Kurt tells him, clutching tightly to Britt’s book report, watching the contorted look of confusion on Finn’s face as he stands there.

“I know,” Finn frowns, “my mom just called me, I feel like I’m the last one to know!”

His voice is laced with hurt and anger and Kurt can understand why. Kurt hadn’t seen Finn last night nor this morning, and since Kurt knew that Carole worked early morning shifts on the weekdays, she probably hadn’t seen Finn this morning either.   
  
He feels angry too, though. Angry that Finn’s first idea is to come storming in here, demanding answers like he should be the one to know everything and anything. His heart is thumping against his chest as he feels the gaze of everyone behind him looking at them both. The rope in his stomach is tight and painful.   
  
He scowls at the taller boy. “Well I’m sorry, Finn, it didn’t occur to me to call you because he’s not your father.”

This only seems to anger him further as Finn shifts his weight from one leg to the other in obvious frustration. 

“Yeah well he’s the closest I’m ever gonna get!” Finn snaps back. He watches the flash of hurt across his face as the words leave his mouth, and for a moment, Kurt feels a tiny pang of sympathy deep inside him, nestled by the rope that’s still twisted up in his gut. Kurt says nothing, leaving Finn to continue on.   
  
“‘Kay I, I know it may not look like what everybody else has but I thought we were…” he pauses, his gaze is diverted away from Kurt’s and he can just about see the glimmer of hope there. He takes a breath, voice calming, becoming a little softer and a little more gentler as he looks back at him again. “Sort of a family.”

The little bit of guilt is wormed away but Kurt’s anger again. He doesn’t deserve to be pushed around like this - yelled at, especially in front of everybody else. He knows Finn is an idiot and that he wouldn’t get it, but he’s still angry. He shakes his head and takes his seat, Finn still rooted to the spot where he stands.  
  
“Look, I guess I just, uh, I didn’t like overhearing other people talking about it in gym class.”  
  
His voice is small, sorry sounding and sincere. Kurt wonders how news about his dad already got around the school that fast in just a day, but for once in his life, he really doesn’t care what kind of things are being muttered behind his back.   
  
He looks up at Finn, who has that same old kicked puppy face before looking at the seat beside him, currently occupied by his bag. He had intended to shy away from everyone today and try not to get too close to anyone when he was feeling this emotionally vulnerable, but he finds himself lifting his bag up off the chair where Finn sits beside him. It’s then that Mr Shue enters the room. Kurt puts the heart attack report into his bag to avoid looking up at the teacher that’s now addressing the room.  
  
“Hey guys,” he says, voice heavy sounding as he lets out a small sigh. “Our thoughts are all with Kurt, and uh, I know it’s hard to focus on anything else-”  
  
There’s an awkward hand on his back, there for only a moment before Kurt shrugs it off, giving Finn a warning with a wag of his finger as he retreats back from him.

It’s then that he realises that Mercedes has spoken up.

“I’ve been struggling trying to figure out what I want to say to Kurt all day,” she speaks, voice sounding pained but Kurt grits his teeth.   
  
So maybe they  _ had _ been avoiding him all day. It hurt, he wasn’t going to lie, that his friends couldn’t put aside their uncomfiness to maybe just walk up to him and say something. He doesn’t look back at her, afraid of what might happen if he did.

She continues as Kurt focuses his gaze at the piano across the room. 

“And I realise I don’t wanna say it, I wanna sing it.”   
  
Nobody says anything else, and it appears that Mr Shue must gesture for Mercedes to come to the front as she walks from the back to the centre of the room, Kurt looking down as she passes him.    
  
“This song is about being in a very dark place,” she exclaims, papers in her hands that Kurt can only assume is sheet music as she approaches Brad at the piano. She hands it to him to look towards Kurt, a small smile on her face that looks sympathetic. “And turning to God,” she adds quietly.   


Kurt is staring her down as she exchanges a few words with Mr Shue but Kurt isn’t listening. Instead he’s trying to keep himself from getting up and walking out of the room entirely.

He’s still seething, feeling the bubbling of anger deep up inside him as Tina and Quinn are called to join her, clearly all planned and it makes Kurt more hurt.   
  
And of course, Mercedes sings beautifully, enough to reduce anybody to tears at just how gentle and soothing her voice is. Everyone watches in awe, how most people watch Mercedes when she’s performing because she just has that effect on everyone with how incredible her voice is. But still, Kurt is like a cauldron of emotion as he sits there, blinking back burning tears, trying to ignore the sideway glances he can feel burning the side of his face from Finn beside him. 

And whilst he can’t help admit that he does love a bit of Whitney to get him through tough times, he still can’t help feel the unsettled feeling from how the song is being directed at him. He doesn’t believe in God, and he doesn’t really care if anyone else - it’s just that he’d rather have his friends just…  _ talk  _ to him, rather than sing songs about something he doesn’t believe in.

The song ends and there’s not a dry eye in the house and they give her a well deserved applause. Kurt however draws in a shaky breath, 

“Thank you, Mercedes,” he says in a whispered voice. “Your voice is stunning, but I don’t believe in God.”

The room goes quiet and Tina who’s passing him to sit back down stops, face screwed up in confusion. “Wait, what?”

He feels Quinn’s eyes burning a hole in the side of his head as he looks at her and back at Tina, still hovering behind him.   


“You’ve all professed your beliefs, I’m just stating mine,” he tells her plainly, watching her face still look perplexed. 

He looks back at Quinn who looks positively furious. “I think God is kinda like Santa Claus for adults,” he says, his voice just laced with a bit of snark.

Nobody says anything else, he hears Quinn take a long, deep breath beside him as he looks away from her.

“Otherwise God’s kind of a jerk,” he adds, nodding to his own statement. “Isn’t he?”   
  
“I mean, he makes me gay and then has his followers going around telling me it’s something that I  _ chose _ ,” he snaps. “As if someone would choose to be mocked, every single day of their life.”   
  
He’s feeling a fire in his stomach now as he carries on.

“And right now I don’t want a heavenly father,” he says, looking back at Quinn who’s avoiding eye contact now. “I want my real one back.”

Mercedes is the first to speak up when she asks,   
  
“But Kurt, how do you know for sure? I mean, you can’t prove that there’s no God…”

Kurt grits his teeth before answering.

“You can’t prove that there isn’t a magic teapot floating around on the dark side of the moon, with a dwarf inside of it that reads romance novels and shoots lightning out of it’s boobs, but seems pretty unlikely, doesn’t it?” He narrows his eyes looking back around at Mercedes who looks positively shocked at his outburst.

She doesn’t say anything, but Britt does pipe up.   
  
“Is God an evil dwarf?” She says in a hushed voice.   
  
Kurt hears the angry inhale of the girl beside him.   
  
“We shouldn’t be talking like this!” Quinn near enough yells. “It’s not right.”   
  
She scowls right at Kurt and he feels the ghost of her hand on his arm just moments ago - a gesture of kindness, that now feels broken by the way she’s looking right at him with tears still in his eyes.   
  
He feels sick.   
  
“I’m sorry Quinn,” he says with a shake of his head, picking his back up off the floor as he stands, turning back around to face her. “You can all believe in whatever you want to,” he says, looking at them all. “But I can’t believe something I don’t. I appreciate your thoughts. But I don’t want your prayers.”   
  
He turns around and makes his way to the door before he can let the first tear make its way down his cheek.  


*

Coming home to new people - a home and a house that isn’t yours is strange. Eating dinner with food that is cooked by people you’re not entirely familiar with. Conversation that falls so easy between the other two people whilst feeling like you’re floating away is exactly how Kurt feels as Carole and Finn engage in a conversation about school - something about Finn wanting to be quarterback again, but Kurt isn’t really paying attention as much as he is just pushing his food around on the plate mindlessly.   
  
Carole must have super-parent powers because it’s like she suddenly catches on to his behaviour as she reaches across the table and takes his hand in his.   
  
“We can head to the hospital soon, hun.”   
  
Kurt smiles at her, not trusting his voice just yet.    
  
“They called today,” she carries on, settling her fork down gently. “No change but he’s not getting worse which is the main thing.”   
  
Kurt can practically feel the want in her voice; the want to try and be positive. For herself. For Burt. For a kid she’s suddenly stuck with and doesn’t know. A kid that’s so largely different to the one she’s so used to raising.   
  
Kurt’s just lucky his dad has good taste in good people, because from what he already can see, Carole is a good person.

*   
  
Kurt had been itching to get back to the hospital the moment he left yesterday. He’d never wanted to leave, really, ready to sleep on the cold hard floor if he’d been allowed.  


But now as they’re being led to his room once again, Kurt feels sick with the fear.   
  
It’s just his dad, he reminds himself with each step down the corridor that seems to stretch on for miles. Just the same old dad.   
  
But the nurse pulls back the curtain and Kurt is reminded that it’s not really the same. He’s just as pale as he was yesterday, still in the same horizontal position, his mouth drawn in a straight, thin line, like he was in pain.   
  
His stomach pinches uncomfortably at the thought that behind all of it, he was still hurting.    
  
There’s a warm hand on his shoulder. “Do you need a moment alone?” Carole is asking him in a whisper and Kurt feels his vision start to blur with unfallen tears as he stares down at his comatose father.   
  
He grabs her hand and holds it tight. It’s not like holding his dad’s hand, not even like holding his mother’s hand from what he can remember.   
  
But it’s something.   
  
“No,” he shakes his head, voice wobbly. “Will you stay?” He asks, looking around at where she’s looking sweetly at him, Finn hanging back a little.   
  
“Of course,” she smiles, squeezing his hand a little tighter.   
  
He looks at Finn. He looks pale. Almost as pale as his dad, actually.   
  
“You can go,” Kurt tells him gently as he pulls up a chair beside the bed. “It’s okay.”   
  
But Finn’s eyes flicker from Burt on the bed to Kurt and swallows thickly, looking like he’s trying real hard to come up with the right words, and for a moment, the knot in Kurt’s stomach feels a little less tight.   
  
“Nah,” he shakes his head and walks over to where they’re sat, grabbing his own chair. “I’m here for you, bro.”

He pats him on the back, kind of awkwardly, but this time Kurt doesn’t shrug him off, the three of them (four, Burt included) fall into a silence together as they watch the slow rise and fall of his dad’s chest, the rhythmic beeping of the monitor beside the bed being the only noise in the room.   
  
*   
  
Carole and Finn leave to head to the cafeteria, bribing her son with gummy worms and Finn happily follows after at first arguing that he was going to stay and look after both Kurt and Burt, but once he’s gone, Kurt is thankful for once again Carole’s super-parent powers, giving him a small amount of alone time with his father. He takes his hand again, feeling the tears he’d been holding back for so long bubbling up out of him.   
  
He holds his hand so tightly. “Dad,” he croaks, “Dad, can you hear me?”   
  
He’s hoping for a twitch of a finger, a flicker of his eyelid. But there’s nothing. It’s almost like he really is dead.   
  
He chokes out a sob, ducking his head down as he grips his hand so tight he’s half hoping his dad will just wake up to yank it from his grip.   
  
“Please, dad,” Kurt whispers. “Please don’t leave me.”   
  
Burt doesn’t stir. Kurt feels angry, alone, scared, worried, hurt all at the same time.    
  
“Please, dad,” he tries again, voice thick with tears. “Just give me a sign you’re still here.”   
  
Time seems to go on forever the longer Kurt waits for nothing.   
  
He’s wiping away the tears and snot from his face when Finn comes bustling back in the room, first shocked from the state of Kurt’s face, probably, and as he approaches him slowly, he simply holds out an unopened bag of gummy worms, not saying a word.   
  
Kurt looks up at him through tears, wipes his face, sniffs and takes them.

They sit together in silence, watching over Burt as they eat their candy until Carole comes back to tell them it’s time to go back home.   
  
*  
  
The Hudson sofa bed isn’t really all that comfortable, and of course Carole fawns over him, apologising, and even poor Finn offers up his own room, but Kurt refuses, tells Carole it’s perfect and once again he’s left alone as the rest of the house sleeps. He’s not sure what time it is, but the night seems never ending the longer he lies there, staring up at the ceiling.    
  
There’s a framed picture on the sideboard. A man that Kurt can only presume is Finn’s father, holding a small, chubby baby in his arms. He smiles at it, looking at the face that looks like the one he knows.    
  
He remembers the conversation he and Finn had last year, the brief understanding that both of them had parents that were no longer here. And Finn had confessed that it was perhaps a good thing he didn’t remember his own dad.   
  
Can’t miss something you didn’t know was there, he guesses.   
  
Sometimes Kurt would wish the same. He would feel awful and guilty about it because of course, he’d never want to forget his mother. He still remembers her smell, her smile, her voice when she sung or laughed… he misses her, more than he probably admits. He misses her a whole lot more right now.   
  
Carole was great. She was kind and loving and sweet and so, so generous.   
  
But she wasn’t Kurt’s mom. 

She wasn’t the person he could simply climb the stairs to, crawl into her bed and let himself be held whilst she petted his hair like she’d do when he was little.   
  
It all kind of hits him at once.    
  
If his dad really doesn’t make it, he’ll be an orphan.   
  
He’ll have lost both parents. He’ll have nothing; no tether to the family that he was so close to.    
  
If he loses his dad, who will remind him of funny stories of his mom? Who will visit her grave with him every Christmas? What will happen to their Friday night dinners they kept doing out of her tradition?

Where would he  _ go _ ? Would he stay with Carole? Would anyone want him? The only openly gay kid in all of Lima, Ohio, or would he be moved around from home to home, bouncing around the state, alone again.    
  
It all spills out at once as he sobs into his pillow, his breath hitches as he curls in on himself, the crappy sofa bed creaks under his weight as he hugs himself, trying so hard to imagine what it would feel like to be wrapped up in both his mom and dad’s arms right now.   
  
It’s all he wants. He wants his family back. He’s all alone in the world and he’s scared. He doesn’t want to feel like this forever.    
  
He’s still hiccuping soft little sobs into the pillow, tears soaking through when he finally falls asleep due to exhaustion. His body and his brain aches to sleep, and so he gives in.   
  
*

Everyday seems to blur into one; time having no real meaning, each passing moment being simply another moment where his dad doesn’t wake up.

School becomes meaningless pretty quickly. He sits idly at the back of each class, not really paying attention to whatever is happening, but instead checking his phone every few minutes to be sure there’s no missed calls from Carole or the hospital - good news or bad news, he doesn’t want to miss anything.   
  
It doesn’t help that he’s started getting slack from his friends, of all people, as their little hang up on God and religion continues, and every time he steps into the choir room to see their faces, he almost instantly wants to walk back out.   
  
Between that, visiting the hospital and having Sue on his back about making an official complaint about it all, Kurt finds himself collapsing onto his sofa bed almost every night with exhaustion. He considers skipping glee club once Santana makes a snarky remark at him after hearing about his conversation with Sue, that leaves him feeling like he’d fallen into a giant pit of despair. Even Mr Shue has to ask everyone to back off and it makes him feel sick.    
  
He can’t sleep though, no matter how hard he tries, it’s like his brain just isn’t wired correctly anymore. All the plugs in his head are disconnected and no matter how sleepy and heavy he feels, he just can’t ever fall asleep.   
  
And it becomes obvious, apparently, when Ms Pillsbury calls him in to her office for a  _ “little chat.” _

And he can appreciate it, he can. He knows everyone is just trying to help, and he can see that and he’s sure that deep down beneath all his hurt and tiredness, he probably does feel that love they’re giving out to him. But her kind face and kind words and kind tone mean nothing to him as he sits there and is handed yet another pamphlet about coping with stress. Coping with the sickness of a parent.   
  
He’s looking down at the clipart image of a child crying and the knot in his throat is so tight it’s almost choking him.   
  
“-and you’re always welcome to come find me, Kurt,” Ms Pillsbury continues on, Kurt only half listening like he’s underwater or something. “I know it must be scary what you’re going through,” she continues on and Kurt looks up at her, “but know that you’re not alone, and having friends around you will maybe help.”

Kurt grips the pamphlet so tight in his hand that the corner of it crinkles and he can see the mildly shocked look on the guidance counselor's face.   
  
“It  _ is  _ scary,” he tells her sharply. “I already know what it’s like to lose one parent, my dad is all I have left.”   
  
Ms Pillsbury looks taken aback at his sudden tone, but says nothing, letting Kurt continue.   
  
“All I ask for is for people not to shove their religion down my throat constantly,” he says bitterly. “I don’t need their prayers. I just want  _ them _ .”

The anger then fizzles away, dissolving like hot water to steam, and he releases the tension in his shoulders and looks down at the pamphlet that’s been submitted to his harsh grip.

He looks back up at Ms Pillsbury who looks like she might cry too.   
  
“I’m sorry, Kurt,” she says sincerely and all of a sudden, Kurt can’t find it in himself to be mad. “I can talk to Mr Shuester if you want me to.”   
  
Kurt swallows thickly, the rope in his throat is still there. He nods, smothers the pamphlet in his hand and gives her a short smile as he stands up to leave.   
  
“Thank you,” he says quietly, wavering the paper in his hand before holding it to his chest. “Really.”   
  
She gives him a final smile, her eyes holding onto something like hope as he turns around, and leaves.   
  
*   
  
Whether Ms Pillsbury talks to Mr Shue or not, it doesn’t matter, because after their talk, once he’s floated through the last few lessons of the day, he’s driving straight from school to the hospital where Carole had texted him to say she was already there.   


He’s walking into the hospital with his feet leading him to where he needs to be, brain on autopilot as he mentally prepares to once again see the shell of his father lying on that hospital bed. 

What he isn’t prepared for, however, is to see that Rachel, Finn, Carole, Quinn and Mercedes are all surrounding his dad’s bed. His heart kicks up in his chest as he watches them all, candles and all as Rachel clearly finishes off the last note of whatever song she had been singing.   
  
He bursts through the door and all eyes are on him.   
  
“What’s going on in here?” He asks, feeling tears already springing to his eyes as he looks at them all. 

Rachel’s the first to speak, looking a little shocked nonetheless. “We- we were just… praying for your dad,” she says, looking round at Quinn who ducks her head down when Kurt looks at her.

“Rachel, Quinn and I were just taking turns,” Mercedes adds quietly, barely audible over the pounding sound of Kurt’s heart in his chest that gets bigger and bigger, and louder and louder. “We’re from different denominations and religions so we figured one of us is bound to be right…”   
  
Kurt isn’t interested. For once in his life he can’t even look his best friend in the eye and even try to listen to what she has to say. He swallows hard, tears slip down his cheeks, unblinking as he keeps his gaze focused on his dad. 

“I didn’t ask you to do this,” he tells harshly, trying hard to regain control of his breathing as they continue to stand and stare at him like  _ he’s  _ the crazy one. 

He’s surprised to hear Carole speak next.   
  
“Honey, I know you’re upset about what’s happening,” she tells him kindly, but kind doesn’t cut it anymore. “I get it,” she continues. “But… friends help out, even when you don’t ask.”   
  
Kurt stares at her, his vision blurs from the tears gathering in his eyes, his heart feels like a damn rock in his chest as he looks at her face, so unclear now.    
  
He thought out of everyone, she of all people would maybe understand better.   
  
His dad would, he knows that much.   
  
But before he can argue, cry, scream or do anything, there’s a soft voice coming from behind him.   
  
“Mr Kurt Hummel?” The woman speaks and since the first time Kurt got here, he feels a little less angry.

The woman approaches him with a gentle hand on his arm and it feels somewhat grounding. 

There’s a beat of silence as everyone looks at her when Finn opens his mouth to speak.   
  
“Dude, why didn’t you just tell us you wanted to pray in Muslim?”   
  
There’s some humour to it, he’s sure. Any other time, Kurt would have rolled his eyes, made a joke back and called Rachel a fool for dating someone so dim.    
  
But right now he doesn’t even want to look at Finn. He doesn’t want to look at any of them, not even Carole. 

The woman corrects Finn rather sharply about her own religion that has Finn ducking his head down in embarrassment. 

Kurt looks at Carole. “She’s gonna see if acupuncture will improve the circulation to my dad’s brain.” He looks at her when he says it because, yes, he did go behind her back to get this organised when in reality he should have maybe asked first.   
  
But hurt is crawling up the rope in his stomach and festing like something cold and sad, that he doesn’t care. She went behind his back, too. When he thought she wouldn’t.

He sucks in a sharp breath, looking back at his dad. “Amazingly,” he starts, “needles pierce the skin better than psalms.”   
  
He glances back up at Carole who’s looking right back at him. He doesn’t hesitate.   
  
“Can you all please leave now.” It’s not a question, not really. They all seem to get the message, at least as they slowly make their way back around the bed.   
  
He’s trying not to cry anymore when Rachel approaches him, a tentative hand on his arm.

“We just wanted to do something,” she says quietly, like she’s the one that should be feeling sad and hurt. Kurt doesn’t look at her. He says nothing as Mercedes passes him, pausing momentarily like there might be something.   
  
But one by one, they filter out, like dogs with their tails between their legs, not even Carole tries to stop him.

Their faded footsteps disappear away from them, leaving him, the acupuncturist and his dad alone as she readies him.   
  
He looks at the lit candle left behind, leans over, and extinguishes it with one blow of his breath.

*   
  
The next day is hard. He barely speaks to Carole and Finn at breakfast, they both watch over him like he’s some naughty little toddler who might have a full blown tantrum at any moment and it makes him feel stupidly small.   
  
The feeling of being welcome in their home is slowly starting to dwindle away, even when not intentional, he knows Carole would never do anything to actually upset him on purpose, but he can’t help feel a tension between all three of them ever since that last hospital visit.   
  
Before he leaves for school with Finn, she promises like she does everyday, to text him with any updates, and to call the school if need be.   
  
He thanks her quietly and says nothing more as they two boys leave.   
  
*   
  
He avoids Mercedes as best he can. He has gym with her, usually spent hiding at the back of the class, laughing and joking together as they fail spectacularly at whatever they’re supposed to be doing. But today Kurt pairs up with some girl he’s never even spoken to before, and actually does whatever routine they’ve been instructed to. He doesn’t miss the shy glances Mercedes shoots him every now and then, but he doesn’t give in, and instead finds a tiny bit of joy from their teacher as he lands a perfect cartwheel for once.   
  
*   
  
He’s alone at lunch, which isn’t really new in all of his years at school, but since being a part of glee club, he’d quickly grown accustomed to having a full table whenever he ate. Someone was always talking, laughing, sharing a story (or ignoring Rachel’s), but now all he had was his thoughts to himself as everyone else around him talked loudly with their own friends.    
  
He tries not to think about what his dad would think of his so-called friends right now, if he could see him now, he’s sure it’d anger him enough to potentially have another heart attack.   
  
He’s pulling the crusts of his sandwiches when he sees a figure approach him from the corner of his eye.   
  
“Hey,” Artie’s voice startles him almost, looking round to the boy, sat awkwardly with his hands in his lap. “Mind if I join you?” He asks.   
  
Kurt shakes his head. Artie is his friend, maybe not his closest friend, but he’s still his friend, even if all they do is share a few words between each other in a day.   
  
They eat their lunch together in silence, simply enjoying each other's company it seems, until Artie clears his throat, making Kurt look round at him.

“It really sucks,” he starts with a shake of his head, “what they’re all trying to do.”   
  
Kurt swallows a mouthful of his lunch.   
  
“They shouldn’t do it,” Artie tells him. “It’s not fair they’re trying to make you believe in God. It’s selfish and cruel, backing you into a corner like that, at a time like this.”   
  
Kurt hadn’t expected  _ that _ . And whilst, yes, Artie had been particularly quiet about the whole religion thing in general the last few days, Kurt had no idea that they potentially shared the same feelings about God.   
  
Kurt blinks at him. “You don’t believe in God?” He asks.   
  
Artie shakes his head.   
  
“Used to,” he shrugs, wiping his hands down his trousers to rid of any crumbs left there. “But after my accident, people used to tell me it was ‘God’s gift’ that I was alive,” he says with another shake of his head.   
  
Kurt says nothing, sure that this is probably their longest conversation alone together, and wants him to continue.   
  
“I was eight, and people were telling me that I was so lucky, you know? That I got to live. That I got to survive. I was eight years old and people told me that the reason I was here still, was because of God.”   
  
There’s a beat of silence before Artie looks up at Kurt, through his glasses.    
  
“When they told me I would never walk again, never dance or run…” he sucks in a breath. “I was so mad,” he tells him. “I was so mad because here I was, thinking God had given me a favour when in reality he’d taken everything besides life away from me.”   
  
Kurt’s eyes flicker over the other boys face, seeing the hurt there as he talks.   
  
“I was mad at God at first, but then I realised… I was mad at everyone else.”   
  
“I was mad because they all told me that this,” he says, gesturing to his legs. “That this was something to be  _ happy  _ about. That I should be  _ thankful _ . They got my hopes up, telling me that if I believed, God would heal me, and I’d walk again. And we all know that clearly didn’t work out.”   
  
Artie rubs at his eye angrily.    
  
“Kurt,” he croaks, looking at him with sad eyes. “Don’t ever feel guilty for having reasons to not believe in God,” he tells him. “Everyone has their reasons  _ for  _ believing, but nobody ever stops to think about the reasons to  _ stop _ believing, or to not believe at all.”

Kurt is quick to wipe away the stray tear that falls from his face and smiles.   
  
“Thank you, Artie,” he whispers. “It’s nice to talk to someone that actually gets it for once.”   
  
Artie smiles back. “I don’t think they mean to be so…” he waves his hand in the air for a moment as he tries to conjure the word he’s looking for.   
  
Kurt beats him to it though. “Ignorant?” He suggests.   
  
Both boys laugh as Artie nods.    
  
“Yes,” he agrees. “Ignorant.” 

Artie ducks his head down to laugh before looking back at Kurt, not quite sympathetic, nor pitying… it’s something understanding, and it’s actually nice.

“You’re right though,” Kurt mentions, looking down at the half eaten sandwich Carole had made him and sent him off with this morning. “They’re trying, but I wish they would just listen a little better.”   
  
Artie hums in agreement. “Don’t let them walk over you though, Kurt,” he says with a straight face. “Sometimes they go a little too far. It’s like the time they wanted me to catch a ride to Sectionals with my dad instead of getting the coach with you guys,” he recalls sadly.   
  
Kurt diverts his gaze. He still feels bad about the fact that he didn’t really stand up for Artie in that moment, and shame worms its way in his stomach.   
  
“But hey!” Artie exclaims, sounding a little brighter, and Kurt looks up at him to see his smiling face, “I stood up for myself, well, metaphorically speaking of course. I proved them wrong. They were  _ sorry _ ,” he says with a quirk of his head. “And mostly, I think they learned something.”   
  
Kurt swallows thickly and nods. “Yeah,” he squeaks. “We did.”   
  
Artie smiles at him before he’s pulling his backpack back over his chair. “See you in glee practice tomorrow?” He asks and Kurt nods with a smile.   
  
“See you in glee practice.”   
  
*   
  
Kurt spends the remainder of his lessons thinking about his conversation with Artie; about how sometimes the glee club doesn't realise what they’re doing is wrong.   
  
Mercedes is a thoughtful person - she wouldn’t go out of her way to make Kurt feel hurt, especially not now, and Kurt knows that, he clearly and obviously knows that.   
  
But like Mercedes, the glee club doesn't _ get _ it. They don’t understand his gripe with God and religion like how last year they didn’t get why Artie getting the coach with them was such a big deal.

They hadn’t understood, not until they’d stood in Artie’s shoes (or, on a more technical base, sat in his chair) and it was then that it clicked for them to see how hard their friend worked to keep up with everyone else, and how he more than deserved to be allowed to ride to Sectionals with them.   
  
And maybe that’s what he had to do, Kurt thinks to himself as he closes up his English books and heads to his locker. Maybe he had to make it more clear to them - more than just words.   
  
And he knew that there was one sure way the glee club would listen.   
  
*   
  
Kurt goes home to Finn’s house and it’s basically the same kind of routine he’s started getting used to:   
  
Carole makes dinner, the three of them sit and talk except Kurt doesn’t really talk, he just observes, like a ghost looking in on a whole other family that isn’t his. They go to the hospital, they sit in silence until Carole and Finn leave, giving Kurt all the time he needs to hold his dad’s hand and cry, alone. He goes home, crawls up into a ball on the sofa bed and cries some more until he feels like he can’t breathe and only manages to get a few moments of peace when his body finally gives into exhaustion, only to be woken by nightmares that usually consist of flatline monitors going off around his dad’s bed, not being able to get to the hospital in time to say goodbye.   
  
He wakes up the next day still feeling sick. There’s a few texts on his phone when he checks, all asking about his dad, asking if he needs anything and Kurt just ignores them, bitterly pocketing his phone into his pocket as he gets ready for school.   
  
*   
  
When he gets to glee practice later in the day, he can practically feel the heavy tension in the room as soon as he walks in. Everyone is looking at him, making him take his seat with his head ducked down to avoid whatever kind of looks they were throwing him.

He knows that most of it is probably something sorry, but Kurt doesn’t need to listen to them today. He’s going to have them listen to him for once.   
  
Mr Shue walks in, leaning up against the piano when he talks,   
  
“I know things have been… pretty  _ morose _ around here this past week,” he addresses them in a low tone. He doesn’t quite look over to Kurt just yet.    
  
“But I wanna celebrate some good news for our little family,” he adds, his voice becoming lighter and far less gloomy. 

There’s a beat of silence as Kurt waits to see what could possibly be such important news that’d cheer everyone up right now.   
  
Mr Shue smiles as he points a finger in Finn’s direction.   
  
“Let’s hear it for Finn, for getting back his quarterback job, and leading the Titans to a  _ win  _ in their second game of the season!” He exclaims with a clap of his hands, everyone following in his lead.

Puck makes some gruesome joke, someone laughs, but Kurt’s not listening. He’s… happy that Finn got his place back on the football team. He does care about him. But right now he’s finding it harder and harder to grasp at any kind of happiness in life.   
  
It dwindles away inside of him almost as if the rope is starting to fray, and once it breaks, he’ll lose absolutely everything. 

There’s a moment of silence in the room and Kurt finds himself standing up out of his chair, moving from the back of the room towards the front, his heart beating fiercely with each short step he takes as he approaches the teacher. 

“Mr Shue,” he asks in a small voice. “If I may?”   
  
The teacher looks at him and gives him a smile, “Yeah,” he speaks, half stepping away to give Kurt the floor, where he now stands looking out at the rest of his fellow glee club members… his friends.   
  
He catches Artie’s gaze, who shoots him a smile. Kurt smiles back.   
  
He sucks in a shaky breath, his hands sweat where they’re clasped together behind his back as he opens his mouth to speak.   
  
“Um, I wanted to thank everyone for your kind emails and queries about my dad,” he starts off, trying hard to keep his voice level. “But, uh, for your information his condition remains the same.”   
  
It’s like a vice on his heart when he delivers that final line. The somber faces looking up at him don’t help either, twisting tighter and tighter as Kurt stands here in front of everyone and reminds himself that things with his dad just still aren’t changing. And it hurts.   
  
“I need to express myself,” he tells them before turning to the teacher beside him. “So with your permission, Mr Shue, I’ve prepared a number for the occasion.”

Mr Shue is already walking to the chairs when he gives his shoulder a squeeze, “Of course, Kurt.”   
  
He waits for him to be seated before he sucks in a long breath, looking just above everyone’s heads so he doesn’t accidentally make eye contact with anyone whilst he tries to say what he needs to say.   
  
He swallows thickly.   
  
“On the day of my mom’s funeral, when they were lowering her body into the ground…” he pauses, looking at the floor. “I was crying.”

“I mean, that was it,” he continues. “That was the last time I was ever gonna see her.”   
  
The memory burns in his brain like white hot fire. That day. That pain that he’d felt so clear in his heart. He never talks about his mom to the glee club - to anyone, really. But as much as it pains him, he has to do this. For himself, for his dad. Tears prick at his eyes but he doesn’t make an attempt to stop them from leaking down his face, nor does he brush them away when they escape.

He wills himself to carry on, blinking once, twice and a third time.   
  
“And I remember, I looked up at my dad and I… I just wanted him to say something,” he tells them. “Just something to make me feel like my whole world wasn’t over.”   
  
His voice trembles, but Kurt remains strong.   
  
“And he just… took my hand and squeezed it.”   
  
The image of his dad towering over him with his suit and grief stricken expression is sharp in his memory. He was like a superhero in his eyes, and all Kurt could do is just wish that he would whisk him away and make everything feel better again. And to a certain extent, he did, albeit not to eight year old Kurt’s standards and ideas, but his dad did help him. He always did.

“Knowing that those hands were there to take care of me,” Kurt adds. “That was enough.”

He looks up, finally, to see the faces staring back at him.   
  
Artie’s face is pulled into a sad frown. Rachel looks like she might actually cry. Mercedes looks lost for words for once, and Mike has a sweet look about him like he’s willing to be the shoulder he needs to cry on.   
  
He swallows thickly.    
  
“This is for my dad.”   
  
He manages to get through his own rendition of Hold Your Hand without completely breaking down. Tears are squeezed from his eyes with each flutter of his lashes, thinking the whole time about those moments after his mom had died.   
  
The moments in his life where looking back now as a teenager, he knows how much hurt his dad must have been in.   
  
Losing someone so suddenly like that, it wasn’t easy for himself but it must of been like hell for his dad.   
  
Having to raise his son alone. Teaching him how to ride a bike when all he wanted to do was play tea parties in the backyard. He remembers coming home to a house that didn’t feel like a home anymore now that his mom really was gone. How his dad had held him and tried so hard to make things normal for them again in whatever way he could.   
  
By the time he’s stopped singing, his face is wet with tears, and from the looks of it, everyone else's is too. He catches Britt wipe the tears from her chin with the back of her hand. Rachels got her hand on Finn’s arm but his gaze never leaves Kurt’s. He looks like he’s been stunned or something.   
  
He sniffs, his best attempt to wipe away the tears and snot is pretty useless but he looks back at the class through wet lashes.   
  
“I know you’re all trying to help,” he tells them in a small voice. “I know that for you, God and religion… it brings you peace and comfort and hope.”   
  
He watches Mercedes shift uncomfortably in her seat as he looks right at her.   
  
“I appreciate it,” he continues, looking from Quinn to Rachel to Puckerman. “I do.”   
  
He takes a breath.   
  
“But you have to understand why I  _ can't believe _ in God,” he says. “Because God never brought my mom back.”   
  
He stands up a little straighter. “God never stopped all that hurt I had when she died. God never cared about any of that,” he shrugs. “God never stopped me from being bullied. God never helped me, so to ask me to pray to him feels pointless to me.”   
  
He looks around the room, half expecting someone to maybe say something - argue with him once again, but nobody speaks. Tina wipes away a stray tear on her cheek. Mike reaches over to give Brittany’s hand a small squeeze.   
  
Santana crosses one leg over the other, tilting her head at him.    
  
“He’s right,” she speaks, everyone turning their head to him.   
  
“All this time you’ve been asking Lady Hummel here to respect your God when none of you have been respecting his beliefs,” she says. “Isn’t it supposed to be practice what you preach kinda shiz?” She pauses, looking guilty. “And I’m sorry too. I guess I was part of the problem too.”   
  
Mercedes looks down at her hands in her lap.   
  
“We’re real sorry, Kurt,” she croaks, looking up to show her grief stricken face. “We went too far.”   
  
Kurt feels more tears burning behind his eyes as he nods. “It’s okay,” he smiles at her with a wobbly voice. “I need you guys more than I need your prayers.”   
  
It’s then that Mercedes stands up, her chair scraping back on the floor as she crosses the floor, closing the gap between them in record time as she opens up her arms and engulfs him in a hug.   
  
It’s the first time anyone has hugged him in the longest time, and he practically melts into it with a sob. He’s burning his head in her shoulder, awkwardly hunched over her slightly smaller stature when he feels more bodies press close to him as everyone stands to wrap their arms around him.   
  
It feels like he’s wrapped up in their warmth for eternity when they eventually pull away.   
  
Finn stands at the side, his hands shoved in his jeans pockets awkwardly. Kurt’s wiping away his tears again when he speaks.   
  
“I’m sorry, dude,” he sighs. “I haven’t really been like… the most amazing brother or anything…”   
  
Kurt shakes his head. “It’s okay. You’ve let me in your home,” he tells him with a small smile. 

Finn smiles at him, a hand pulled from his pockets to land on his shoulder. “ _ Our _ home,” he corrects him. “We’re family, yeah?”   
  
Kurt gives a watery laugh. “Yeah,” he chokes. “Of course.”   
  


*   
  
The new few days are slightly different at school. He has his friends eating lunch with him again. They offer things like, helping with homework or making him food. They ask if he wants to have a sleepover to take his mind off things - and it genuinely does make Kurt feel a little better, having his friends around him once again.   
  
Mercedes tells him that she asked her church to pray for them both, a slight tone of worry is in her voice but Kurt pulls her into a hug and thanks her.   
  
“I love you,” he tells her as he lets her go. “You know that, right?”   
  
She pinches his cheek. “I love you too.”   
  
Quinn approaches him at his locker one morning and tells him that if he needs help with medical bills, that her older sister’s boyfriend is a lawyer, and that he’ll be more than happy to help.   
  
It also comes with a rather shameful apology.   
  
“I should never have snapped at you like that, Kurt,” she says sadly. “It was completely out of order.”   
  
He reaches over and pats her arm. “I forgive you,” he smiles, and she smiles back. “We’re good, right?”   
  
She beams at him, taking his hand in her’s and holding it tightly. “We’re good.”   
  
*   
  
He goes back to Carole’s house where she’s already made dinner - it’s chicken and as she sets it down on the table, Kurt’s being reminded of a memory he forgot he’d even had.   
  
He smiles, laughs like a crazy person as Carole and Finn watch him in surprise.   
  
“Everything okay, honey?” She asks, passing him his plate. He doesn’t even realise he’s crying until a tear lands on the table.   
  
“Yeah,” he smiles at her. “Everything is fine.”   
  
*   
  
They get to the hospital and once again Kurt feels like he’s been submerged in water the moment he walks into his dad’s room. He’s the same, still, his chest falls and rises again at a slow pace, his mouth in a tight, straight line. There’s stubble around his jaw from days passed and as Kurt looks down at him, the rope in his stomach grows tighter.   
  
“Finn, honey?” Carole speaks softly. Kurt’s eyes flicker upwards to see the woman in front of him looking at her son, jerking her head towards the door.   
  
It takes poor Finn a moment before he nods and moves, following his mother out of the room, but not before he’s shooting Kurt a smile, him returning it as they leave.   
  
Kurt looks at his dad, eyes flickering over his body that lays the same way it has ever since he’d arrived. The tight gets tighter and tighter. It hurts deep.   
  
His eyes catch onto the hospital gown he’s wearing, how the shoulder clips seem to have come undone somehow - probably a nurse coming to give him his bed bath. His stomach clenches at the thought, busing himself as he reaches over to clip them back up.

“You never could dress yourself,” he tries to joke, voice thick with tears threatening to spill. 

He sits back down, the steady beeping of the machines around him seem to echo around the room as he takes a breath, placing his hand over his cold one.    
  
“Do you remember our first Friday night dinner after mom died?” He finds himself asking, looking at his dad like he might just wake up and answer him. When he doesn’t he continues, hoping that somewhere, somehow, he can hear him still.

“You tried to make a chicken,” he recalls, feeling the corners of his lips curl up into a smile as he thinks back to the memory. “I guess you wanted me to feel like there was something still normal.”   
  
He looks down, tears blur his vision as painful memories resurface of those times in their lives. 

He swallows thickly, inhaling sharply.   
  
“You put it on the table, and you cut into it, and… it was  _ raw _ ,” he speaks, voice catching onto a slight laugh, tears spilling down his face as he does so. 

He brushes his thumb over his knuckles.

“And we both looked at each other for a second, and cracked up before we remembered we weren’t supposed to yet,” he says with a shake of his head, his chest going tight.   
  
He remembers the first laugh, the first smile. The first happy moments in his life that came after his mother’s death, and the plague of guilt that came with it, fearing that he was never supposed to feel happy again - that he maybe wasn’t allowed to.   
  
But they’d both grown and learned that it wasn’t supposed to be that way. They’d laugh and cry together. They’d have good days and bad days. They’d argue and fight and then some days they’d be curled up the sofa together just wanting to be close to the one thing they had: each other.   
  
He’s thinking about what his friends would do if they were here: he thinks about what they did do when they stood around and prayed over him. If he were awake he’d probably bark with laughter and make a joke out of it.

The rope in his throat is sore.  
  
“I don’t believe in God, dad,” he whispers as tears fall down his cheeks. “But I believe in you.”

He sniffs, lip wobbling as he continues to look at his comatose father.

“And I believe in us,” he adds with a shaky voice.

He’s always believed in them. It’s been just them for the longest time. Him and his dad. A duo. A  _ family _ .

“You and me,” he whispers, holding his hand a little tighter. “That’s what’s sacred to me.”   
  
His heart aches inside of his chest as he takes a wobbly breath, more tears flow from his eyes and he just hopes that Carole occupies Finn for a little longer as he holds onto this moment with his dad.   
  
“And I’m-” he stops himself as he hiccups a shuddered breath as more tears escape him. 

“I’m so sorry that I never got to tell you that,” he says with a sob, his fingers curl around his dad’s hand, trembling as his body shakes with the pain that’s crawling out of him, up the rope from the pit of his stomach and up his throat where it chokes him. 

He’s thinking about his mom. He’s thinking about his dad - the family he wishes was unbroken just so he could be held by them again. He just wants his dad to take him by the hand like he did in the graveyard that day, and hold him, so tight, like he was prepared to never let go.   
  
He wipes away the snot under his nose with the sleeve of his free hand, when he feels something.   
  
At first he thinks he’s imagining it. But as he stills his breathing, sits up straight and lets his eyes flicker downwards, he realises that maybe the hand curling around his own, so very slowly, isn’t actually in his head at all. 

He looks at their hands, at his dad and back down again in disbelief. 

“Dad?” He whispers, heart pounding so hard in his chest he can’t even be sure he got his words out right. 

But a finger curls around his, and Kurt watches it and when he knows he’s not gone crazy and he isn’t hallucinating, he shoots up out of his chair, surprised to find his legs actually work after feeling like he might just pass out.   
  
“Nurse Nancy!” He calls out, voice cracking as he looks back at his dad, holding his hand in both his now, tight.   
  
“Dad, I'm right here,” he tells him through more tears, vaguely registering the sound of running feet coming their way. “I’m not going anywhere.”   
  
It’s then that the hand in his, gives a weak squeeze back, and before Kurt even has time to find the words, he watches his eyes flutter open, groggily looking around the room before his head turns to face Kurt.   
  
The nurses pile into the room, talking away in terms Kurt doesn’t understand or care about, because his dad is awake, looking at him with a wonky smile and half hooded eyes that tell him he’s probably completely knocked out on drugs right now that he has no clue what’s going on.

“I’m here,” Kurt says in a hushed voice, holding his hand in his, not wanting to ever let go.

The nurses are calling in the doctor when Carole and Finn walk in, faces equally as shocked as each other.   
  
Carole and Kurt look at one another, no words need to be spoken, and she’s crossing the room at record speed to wrap her arms around him, almost knocking him over in the process as she gives out a little squeaky sob.   
  
“He’s going to be alright,” Kurt blubbers once she’s let go. “He’s going to be alright, isn’t he?”   
  
He looks to one of the nurses who gives him a wide smile. “Looks like it,” she says.

Suddenly there’s a hand on his shoulder, making him look around to face Finn, who has tears rolling from his eyes, and a smile bright enough to power a city on the moon.   
  
Kurt gives a weak laugh as Finn pulls him in for a rather rough hug, shaking him a bit as Carole watches on and gives a watery laugh.   
  
“He’s gonna be okay,” Finn smiles once he’s let him go and Kurt smiles back. “Everything is gonna be okay.”   



End file.
